


To Binge

by Dubistsehrschon



Category: Blur (Band), Gorillaz
Genre: M/M, RPF, jamion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dubistsehrschon/pseuds/Dubistsehrschon
Summary: After they both broke up with their girlfriends, Jamie Hewlett moves in with Damon Albarn with the best of intentions in mind. Little does he know what kind of situation he's getting himself into.
Relationships: Damon Albarn/Jamie Hewlett
Comments: 55
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This unbetaed so any mistake, grammatical Or factual, is on me. :)

You know how people often claim that they don't remember anything about their drunken episodes？Well I'm telling you they are absolute liars; they're just too embarrassed to admit to them. How'd I know？I remember every fucking (literally) detail.  
"Graham used to say you have a washing machine tongue, and you truly live up to your reputation." I say, gently tugging at his dark blonde hair. I feel his mouth widen into a grin. Then he intensifes his pace. And I shut up and lean back, stifling a groan.  
...  
Sometimes I wonder how I got myself into such a situation, not that I didn't enjoy this. I still do. I just didn't see the catch in it. Back then I thought he was quite the catch. You see, when I first met him he was a total wanker, arrogant and rude, thinking he was cooler than everyone else. I suppose he was, though he had not yet made it to the rock star status he has now. He is cooler than most guys, and he's prettier than most girls. He knows that. And he knows I know that. I sometimes suspect he knew that from the beginning. And of course, the talent. Where do I begin？  
...  
Oh, the catch.  
I'm dealing with the catch on a daily, if not hourly, basis. The missing underpants are the least of my problems. He's the sort of man that steals everything from you: attention, time, food, clothing, an occasional girlfriend... not necessarily in that order though. If you are among the hundreds of people he took to bed you know exactly what I mean. That stealing I can handle, but living with him takes things to a whole new level.  
...  
Did I forget to introduce myself？l know I sound like a tired parent from time to time. I'm dressed like one now, for the sake of argument, as I scrub furiously at the toilet with heavy-duty industrial-strength detergent. At this point no housekeeper in West London is willing to heed our call, and I cannot live with a soiled loo for long, suffering from slight OCD and what not. I say slight because no one with proper OCD can survive living with him.  
...  
Truth be told, ladies and gentlemen, I never PLANNED living with him. I'm straight, you see, as straight as an Englishman can be. At least that's what I tell myself, if I don't come out I'm not gay. And I do love women. With him it's just complicated. Bottom line is that he tricked me.  
If I had known what I know now, I wouldn't have left my flat even if held at gunpoint. It started innocently enough. Damon called me and asked if I could come and look at a flat he had his eyes on. Apparently he needed my opinion, which didn't happen often. So obligingly I went, being the good samaritan I was.  
And he went: “Actually, would you want to live with me in this flat?”  
To this day I'm still haunted by the look in his eyes as he POPPED THE QUESTION. Justine had just broken up with him and he sort of got kicked out, seeking accommodation in hotels. It's not the most pitiful situation one might find oneself in, but with those enormous bluish-green eyes he looked convincing enough. I was gullible enough to be convinced, to say the least.


	2. Chapter 2

As I said, it all started innocently enough. I agreed to living with him out of the best of intentions. Of course I thought of the perks. He's fun enough to be around for you to overlook his ego. He's a fabled cook. As a rock star he has an endless supply of... recreational medication in case I fall out with my dealer, not that it happens often. But I like to be prepared. I have OCD and I can be rather meticulous.  
I wouldn't say I am taken aback on the first night we move in together when he walks in my room in his briefs with a bottle of liquor. He has muscular limbs, nice and strong, not too bulky, a pleasant contrast to his feminine face. But he does have the worst torso I've ever seen. It's as if God decided to mold a perfect specimen of homo sapien but got interrupted halfway and then couldn't abandon the project because what was done was already too good. This observation is made from a purely scientifically anatomical point of view, mind you. I'm an artist. A cartoonist, yes, but an artist nonetheless.  
So I go, “Where are your trousers？” sort of matter-of-factly. I've had my fair share of encounters with rock stars. I even dated some. But this is new. His pack is HUGE so I try to divert my vision, not without effort.  
“I'll find them when I need them.” And he grins in such a fashion that I feel a sudden urge to slap him.  
...  
I wake up alone to a killer headache and a dry mouth. The empty bottle lies smashed on the floor, glistening under the cruel winter sun. I know Damon's gone to the studio. Despite his eccentricities and fierce partying, he keeps his working schedule intact. I don't think he's going to see Graham today though, because Graham hasn't got over the fact that Damon's befriending me. After all I'm the one that dated his ex-girlfriend. We broke up, yes, but the damage cannot be undone. He can hold a grudge that way. And somehow I doubt my moving in with Damon could help mend our strained relationship. It's curious, though, that none of our mutual friends seems to approve of my friendship with Damon, as if it were something ominous and foreboding. They don't say it out loud, but I get that vibe a lot.  
I carefully circumvent the broken pieces on the floor and pad barefoot into the kitchen. Apparently Damon left in my slippers and didn't think of returning them. But one learns to lower one's expectations when one moves in with another human being. Mine have been continously lowered, for example. I'm constantly amazed by the ability of adaption in the human kind.  
I pour the lukewarm coffee down the sink and start a fresh pot, and put the pancakes in the microwave oven. I don't like my coffee black but Damon has used up what little sugar we had left when he made the pancakes. So I make a mental note to add sugar to my grocery list. I hate making lists.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized the cohabitation took place from 1997 so a few changes has been made in tenses.

If you put two bachelors under one roof things don’t necessarily go wrong. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson fared rather well. I’m not saying we are as formidable a pair, but we’ve had our moments. He’s made his million before he hits 30. I’m not as rich, but I do well myself. Let’s just say that we have relatively few restrictions material-wise. He owns a house and a pub in Iceland, for instance, which he frequents when he flies to that country. Word has it that he feeds fairies at his Iceland home, which could very well be giant moths for all I care. He’s superstitious that way. Some people find it endearing. 

So when guests see the state-of-the-art plasma TV screen in our living room, they aren’t surprised. We can watch up to 10 channels simultaneously, which is a pretty bad-ass feature in the 20th century. I prefer to play video games on it, though. Vigilante 8, that’s my favorite. Every time I beat him, he just cusses and goes for another round. He’s fiercely competitive that way. I find it endearing. 

But endearing is not the term I’d use on him when I come home to find him sprawled face down on my bed in his own vomit. His own bed is chaotic to the point where establishing a pigsty on it would be charged with animal cruelty. Even saints fly into murderous rage at times, and I’m no saint. 

What do I do? I check his pulse. It would be so wonderfully relieving if there were none, but the boy lives. I sigh.  
…  
I’d like to clarify a few things first in case you get the wrong idea. I didn't sleep with him on the first night we moved in together. Nor did I succumb to his boyish charms (Yes I’m disgusted by this term as well. He’s OLDER than I, for fuck’s sake.) for the next one, two, three months. But one’s sanity can only extend so far, not to mention it was stretched pretty thin to begin with. 

If there is one thing he actually LIKES from his breakup, it’s the partying. Justine wouldn’t greenlight any party bigger than 4 in her house. And Damon, being the boisterous Aries he is, has had too much energy suppressed over the years. I guess it’s the way in which he was brought up that makes him crave home circuses. No, that came out wrong. Keith and Hazel are nice people, but being the original hippies as they are, they have entertained a DIVERSE crowd. 

I like the booze and drugs, but the company can be overwhelming if you throw a party every other night for three months in a row. Damon Albarn, the fabled party thrower of Westbourne Grove, they say, while tabloids keep putting up photos of me carrying grocery bags, as if I were some errand boy. Fortunately my ego is not that big, but I am irritated by the paparazzi. 

Irritation would be an understatement for me when Damon walks into my room in the middle of a party. He reeks of alcohol and sweat, and his eyes are blood-shot. They are still very blue and very intense, almost luminous, which is another impressive feature of his. 

“Jamie,” he smirks, “come to the party.”

“No.”

“Well if you don’t come to the party then the party has to come to you.”

Before I can respond, he throws himself at me, knocking me flat onto the bed. He then tries to pin me down by entangling his limbs with mine. I’m shocked motionless until he smashed his lips on mine, and that’s when I begin to fight him off. I have the slight advantage of being sober, otherwise he’d easily overpower me with his muscles. I don’t see him working out a lot, but I guess pouncing around on stage does help enhance his physical fitness. 

After some considerable effort I manage to push him off me. “Damon, what the f…” 

I fall silent when I see the tears. 

“Justine wants nothing to do with me. Graham wouldn’t even talk to me. We’re making a record and all he does is mail samples to the studio. What sort of band are we? I’ve known him for almost twenty years and he’s making a solo record! I think Blur are breaking up.”

“Oh,” I say, tryin desperately to sound sympathetic. 

Damon is sobbing hysterically at this point. I think it’s the drug talking. I need to find out what he is on later just in case. But my priority lies in keeping him away from curious guests. Damon would most definitely kill anyone who’s seen him crying tonight afterwards. 

So I carefully hug him. 

He buries his face against my neck and I feel the warmth and humidity and his stubble. I am instantly turned on. Up close he doesn’t smell so bad, or it’s because my nose is used to his stink. Either way, I’m painfully aware that things are getting perilously close to some very embarrassing situation. An alarm goes off in my brain as he presses his pelvis against mine. I think he knows. He knows. Fuck. 

And “Fuck” is the only word on repeat in my mind as he gently sucks and nibbles at my neck. My breath is caught in my chest. My limbs are numb. My ears are ringing. I see stars swimming around my eyeballs, or it’s because they are squeezed too tight. Instinct tells me to fight or flight, but I’m too terrified to do either. In the end I just go with the flow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairy/moth reference: https://pin.it/6vddQ8P


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes I wonder why he invited me to share his flat in the first place. Graham is bubbly and sassy in private, a master of metaphors. But his wits don't translate into public behavior, unless he's reasonably drunk, which makes him all the more adorable in a sense.  
And Justine, that one's literally got the whole package. I cannot think of one more single thing you could ask of a human being. We can all agree Damon was lucky one in that relationship.  
That said, I see why he's so upset, but my initial question remains unanswered. The only similarity amongst us three is that we're all artistic, I suppose. Those two don't do what I do for a living, but oh boy can they utilize a brush.  
“What are you drawing？”  
I close my sketch book with a snap. He didn't see it, did he？  
“Nothing interesting, I'm afraid. You're home early.”  
“Alex is too hung over to do any substantial work. And Dave's got a call from his wife.”  
“Elton called to ask us to go over his place for a drink tonight.”  
“Hmmm I guess I don't need to go to a pub now.”  
I turn back and thoughtfully roll my pencil to and fro on the desk, waiting for him to get the cue and leave me alone.  
“Can you draw me？”  
I arch an eyebrow.  
“Seriously can you？Even a cartoonist should know how to do a figure sketch.”  
Of course I can. I just don't feel it appropriate to show him any.  
“I suppose, if you agree to pose.” I could strangle myself.  
“Sure. Do you want me to strip？”  
I see where this is going.  
He sits down on my bed and tilts his head. I feel a lump in my throat whenever he eyes me like that. But I cannot back out now, can I？  
I clear my throat. “Just find whatever position you are comfortable in, and be still.”  
“For now it's the bottom.” He chuckles.  
Eventually he lies on his side facing me, his head propped up with his right elbow as he rests his other hand on the left knee. Not the most elegant pose, but it'll have to do. He was thoughtful enough to remove his sneakers beforehand. Good. I grab my graphite and start right away, wanting no more funny business.  
In an hour or so the drawing is done. I thank him for his time, and kindly ask him to leave.  
“But you haven't shown me your drawing.”  
“I only agreed to draw you, not to show you my drawing.” Thank you for teasing me, arsehole.  
He tries to snatch the drawing from me, but of course I saw that coming, and raise it high out of his reach. I'm half an inch taller, so in theory this should do the trick. I just didn't expect him to tickle me.  
Before he sees the drawing I counter-attack, using both my hands on his sides, causing him to stumble backwards into the bed. He tries to cover his sides and roll away, but I'm relentless.  
By the time I'm done with him he's wheezy and in tears. I tweak his nose and reach for the drawing, ready to stand up.  
He kicks me squarely in the stomach, knocking out the air. Son of a (sorry Hazel) is an amateur footballer. Is this even legal？As I bend over, Damon sits up and squeezes my shoulder. “You ok？”  
I say nothing. Instead I grab both his ankles and pull, hard. He falls back with a yell. I then push his legs back to pin him down with his own knees. My eyes are locked on his, so he’s stopped struggling.  
I slowly remove his socks to expose his bony ankles. I then let go of one and bite on the other, hard enough to draw blood. Damon gasps and wraps his free leg around my waist, and presses his hip into mine as I kiss his calf, not breaking eye contact. I use my other hand to push up his shirt and caress his furry belly, circling my thumb around his navel. In turn he rubs against me, purring like a cat.  
See? I won’t go down without a fight.  
Later that evening as I phone Elton to apologize for our absence, Damon picks up the drawing and studies it.  
“Why do I have empty eye sockets? And where are my front teeth?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments will be highly appreciated. It feels lonely enough to write about jamion. :.(

When you're stoned, I mean really stoned, the most boring thing becomes downright fascinating, like watching MTV at one in the morning.  
"This is exactly like my brand of hell."  
“Hmmm？”  
“There's no substance, just empty shells performing manufactured numbers from an assembly line. It's disgusting.”  
“Relax, my old boy. You've had your shot. It's the age of boy bands after all.”  
“I mean the least they can do is make better music than this sloppy R&B/hip-hop/soul crap.”  
I rub the back of his head and twiddle the dark blonde locks behind his ear–ring.  
“I can definitely do better than this.”  
“With Blur？Alex might be up for it but Graham will most certainly kill himself, or you, for that matter.”  
“Why not with cartoon characters？Your 2–D and Murdoc are good enough.”  
“They are better than good enough.” I do know my trade.  
“How about I write the songs and you do the graphics？That'll shock the music industry I'm sure.”  
“Baby, I'm expensive. Animation is expensive. And no one will get it, not in ten or twenty years.”  
I fall asleep.  
When I open my eyes again the programme is over. The plasma screen glows silently in front us, casting long shadows of his lashes on his nose bridge. I brush my lips against the tip of his nose before pulling the blanket over his chin. I don't bother to switch off the TV. Then I return to my room upstairs.  
My alarm clock reads at 4:37 a.m. when there comes a familiar tug on my duvet. I sigh and roll over to rest on my side. At this point his room is the equivalent of a tropical jungle. I wouldn't venture inside without a shotgun. He slumbers on the sofa, or finds shelter here, when it's cold.  
I shudder as he circles a cold hand around my waist beneath my pajama top. He then hugs me from behind and stays quiet. I'm beginning to doze off again when he reaches down with that hand warmed.  
I count my breath as he pumps me at a steady rhythm. He pulls at my side gently so I roll on my back and he dives down, down as I gasp silently for air in sweet agony.  
...  
Damon is gone when I wake up at ten. I sit up and look out of my bedroom window as London buzzes lazily about on a typical Saturday morning. Now where are my slippers again？  
...  
I spend the afternoon playing around with this new graphic software on my PC. I have a new idea with this chimpanzee–like character called Russell. He's got completely white eyeballs and a mean attitude in a reversed baseball hat.  
Around 6 p.m. Damon comes back. I listen as he busies himself in the kitchen. In an hour or so the aroma of fried rice fills the flat. My stomach rumbles.  
“You serving Chinese tonight？”  
“I wanted to make paella but the grocery store doesn't have saffron. So we're having fried rice with shrimp and scallops. Now where do I find chopsticks？”  
In the end we partake of the rice with spoons.  
He clears his throat as I'm drying the dishes by the sink. I haven't seen him this nervous before.  
“Listen. I have a proposal to make.”  
Shit, I should have worn a prettier dress.  
“I have an idea about this virtual cartoon band, but I need a graphic artist like you to complete the job.”  
“I told you I'm expensive. Plus the animation is too complicated if you want presentable results.”  
“No, not contract work. A partnership. We'll split the profit even if there's any.”  
I sit down in front of him and raise my eyebrows.  
“How about that？A gimmick that can shock the industry.”  
And that's how, ladies and gentlemen, moving in with him becomes my second worst decision.


	6. Chapter 6

Any production involving the visual aspect is tricky. You can put a song on repeat for hours, but try watching the music video of the same song for 5 times and you’ll probably be bored to death. The eye is not easily fooled. I don’t mean to bore you with the sheer amount of work involved in making hand-drawn animation, but you might be more understanding when I talk about the necessity of uppers and downers, stimulants and sedatives, excitants and tranquilizers, that sort of thing. I oversee everything and the schedule is tight, you see, so I don’t get much sleep, and even if I get any, I don’t sleep that well.  
That coupled with the speed of Damon’s song writing, puts me in very tight shoes. He’s extremely driven to begin with, not to mention the fact that this new project gives him all the freedom to experiment with things he cannot use with Blur. Sometimes he gets so excited he humps a random instrument at hand, which is NOT a pretty sight to behold.  
Of course, he’s got a LOT more on his plate as well, otherwise he wouldn’t have shaved his head. He’s started a family with Suzi, and we no longer share a flat, but we still live on close proximity for the sake of work, which on hindsight proves another enormously bad decision. There’s just no getting away from him. Have I mentioned we fight on a daily basis?  
And then there are the gigs. Touring with a band might sound glorious, but it’s messy and noisy and disgusting. I don’t get to perform on stage so I share none of their glories, but as a partner I’m obliged to go with him. Damon for his part has rediscovered nauseous spells he had in his early twenties. There are panic attacks as well. It’s sort of hilarious to see one nervous wreck trying to comfort another nervous wreck, if you are not either of them, that is.  
By the time the possibility of a movie deal comes along, I’m already on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I’ve had that treatment when Hollywood talked me into making a movie of Tank Girl. The result was a total disaster, but the production asked little of my opinion and I did get a fat check. It might be just as well.  
You can imagine my relief when the deal is finally off the table. After leaving the studio I decide to explore the local scene a little, and incidentally, to excuse myself from Damon’s presence.  
I find this posh pub in Beverly Hills where there’s a long queue in front of the entrance. The bouncer is surprisingly friendly and waves me in without any question. I ask for a Guinness and sit idly in a booth away from the dance floor. A hookup would be nice, but I just need my rest tonight.  
“Excuse me but are you Jamie Hewlett?”  
I look up and there’s this reasonably handsome bloke in front of me, in a tight shirt and a tighter pair of jeans. He’s had too much gel in his hair, I decide, but I’m too flattered to play indifferent in front of a fan.  
He sits down in front of me and starts talking about Tank Girl and what not, while I pleasantly nod and smile, making little effort of interjection. When Damon calls me on the mobile phone, I conveniently excuse myself and make a beeline towards the loo.  
When I come back he’s bought a new round of drinks. I accept his kindness and sip at my Guinness, and in what feels like a few moments an odd sensation creeps over me.  
Before I know it, he seats himself beside me and whispers weird things into my ears. I have half a mind to push his hand off my knee but decide it’s too much trouble. As he reaches between my thighs I start giggling stupidly, and that’s when I hear Damon’s voice.  
“Let’s go, Jamie.”  
I try to speak but it’s sort of difficult with another man’s tongue down my throat. And I cannot figure out why Damon looks so pissed with my mashed potato of a brain. My new best friend goes “Look man we’re in the middle of a conversation here.” But Damon’s having none of it. He downs the other man’s beer in a gulp and starts hauling me out of the pub.  
As a matter of fact I come willingly enough, but my limbs are not functioning as usual, which is probably why I fall on his lap when he drags me into the backseat of a taxi. He’s still fuming when I rub between his legs and giggle, but his ears are turning red.  
I don’t remember much of that night because of, well, retrograde amnesia. Some drugs have that effect on people. I certainly don’t remember any begging, whimpering, panting or grinding. I vaguely recall Damon kissing down my spine while stretching me with two fingers, but it could very well be from another wet dream. Anyway, all the tension between us seems to melt away when I wake up the next morning when Damon walks into my room after a knock and sits by the bed, “I need to go back today. My bandmates called last night. Blur are making a new record.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a need to explain the beads. Damon's beady necklace was made by Hazel when he was little. And he made a matching necklace for Graham when the latter was hospitalized for anemia in the end of 1980s. The string broke in Graham's necklace but he's kept the beads in a cup made by Hazel. In 2003 Damon lost his beads to agitated fans in Spain during the Think Tank tour. He never recovered them.

If you'd follow me this far, you probably know a thing or two about the big Blur falling out around their 7th studio album. Creative divergence and power struggle, some say; while others speculate alcoholism played a big part. These are not too far from the truth. Time passes by and people change; childhood friendships turn into business partnerships; lawsuits ensue; romance quenches; friends drift apart. That's just the way it is. Just be grateful while you are having fun. Most people don't realize this until the fun is gone.  
What I am trying to say is that there's no one to blame, and certainly no one is a victim in this case. Indeed Damon takes it the hard way, but he soldiers on like a real trooper. As someone who’s very old school, Damon spends a large portion of 2003 touring to support Think Tank. I don’t get to see him a lot. I don’t expect to. After all, Gorillaz was just a successful gimmick. Very successful, you could even say, considering it sold 7 million copies worldwide. We had fun.  
As for myself, I’ve done some collaborative work with a novelist in a comic series. I toy with old and new ideas a lot. And I occasionally date around. Nothing too serious, though. I’m told that I lack commitment in relationships.  
…  
It so happens that Fate finds me again when I’m dining at a fancy French restaurant with an attractive singer/actress on a Saturday evening. The date isn’t going too well. She’s very beautiful but I cannot seem to hold a conversation for long. As you may have already noticed, I come across tedious, and my jokes are usually not so funny as silly.  
Then I spot Damon seated across the room. He’s definitely underdressed, in a nondescript khaki parka and jeans, a sharp contrast to the exquisite flock around him. His eyes are cast down as he studies the menu, oblivious to the pained looks from the waiters.  
I quietly push back my chair and stand up. “Excuse me. I need to use the loo.” She gives me a cold smile.  
I make a beeline to Damon’s table and sit down in front of him. He’s tanned and his hair has grown back, in a lighter hue of sand, probably because he’s spent a lot of time under the African sun. But its sheer length and shape is very unappealing. I catch myself before reaching out and ruffling his hair.  
“Hello, Gypsy. What are you doing here?”  
He looks up with a mischievous grin. “Getting a meal with my date, of course.”  
“Well in that case I should leave you two alone.” I put my hands on the table to push myself up from the chair.  
He grabs my hand and gently tugs. “Do sit down. He’s here.”  
…  
That night as I unbutton his shirt I notice his beads are gone. He’s wearing a thick white gold chain around his neck. I absent-mindedly run my fingers along the metal when he leans in for a kiss, so I slide my hand upward to cup the back of his head and finally ruffle that hair, dropping the question.  
Damon is still sound asleep when I wake up the next morning. I carefully trace my hand down his thick back and linger a little around his dimples of Venus, trying to burn this image on my retina before getting dressed to leave.  
…  
A month later he visits my studio with a bunch of songs.  
“You see, I wrote these songs as I was touring with Alex and Dave. These are more Gorillaz than Blur, so I thought ‘what the heck, we could probably make another Gorillaz album.’ What do you say? If we do it again it’s no longer a gimmick.”  
“You want to prove your point in earnest? I do have a couple of ideas. This time we can make a more elaborate story line with the characters. If we slow down the production I’m sure the results will be more presentable. We might actually win a few awards this time.”  
Damon gapes at me in disbelief.  
I’m done counting mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jamie didn't know about the circumstances of the loss of Damon's beady necklace so he assumed Damon took it off.


	8. Chapter 8

I fucking love this man. 

The making of Demon Days witnesses my full commitment. Never have I burnt so brightly in my entire life. I’m brilliant and I know it. And Damon is equally brilliant if not even more so. He comes to me with his music, and I show him my work, business as usual. But this time something is different and we both feel it. The ideas and the sounds and the images border on magic, and staff feels it, too. We still fight on a daily basis, but the fighting is charged with creative sparks and sexual drive. 

I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I don’t drink booze or take drugs. Damon is my sole addiction now. I constantly challenge him, badger him, harass him so that he can make better music to match my graphics, and in turn he does the same to me. You should see us trying to top each other, mentally and physically. We are truly each other’s accelerant.

When Feel Good Inc. comes out in May people are astounded. And in September Dare even knocks The Importance of Being Idle off the No. 1 position of the British Singles chart. We’re on a proper blast. November comes and we have five Grammy nominations. We’re even asked to perform on the awards ceremony, or the virtual band are, at least. 

When the invitation letter arrives from America, Damon gives me the biggest hug I’ve ever received. He throws himself so hard at me my knees buckle, and I collapse. 

I wake up in the hospital and am informed that it’s exhaustion and malnutrition. No surprise here. Since I’ve regained my consciousness I politely ask to be discharged from the hospital, which the doctor allows eventually, but not before Damon vows to look after me. Now I’m worried. 

Damon escorts me home in a taxi and tucks me in, in full guardian mode, before fluttering about my flat to prepare for the necessities he thinks I need: a cup of tea, some cheese, scrambled eggs. It’s hilarious to see him play mother, no matter how much I appreciate his gesture. 

“Damon, I don’t think I can do this anymore.

“I’m burnt out.

“I’ll refer you to the best animator in the business. Now can you please leave me alone?”

“Shh, you’re dehydrated. Now drink this tea and be quiet.”

I drink the tea and stay quiet. And the next thing I feel is his cool hand on my forehead. His fingertips are calloused, yet they feel surprisingly good.  
…  
Damon stays true to his words and he is determined to nurse me back to health, but his stink is getting to me. I choose to believe he takes a shower from time to time, but he isn’t accustomed to changing into clean underwear. And I think he’s getting sloppier every year. I don’t know how Suzi puts up with him. Plus, I haven’t bathed for three days. I begin to suspect mushrooms are growing from my private parts, not that I care to check. 

After my repeated requests Damon finally agrees to give me a bath. He’s concerned that my recurring fever will worsen if I “catch a cold” but I’m more concerned with my mental wellbeing. So evening finds us naked in the bathroom, with me in the tub and Damon awkwardly holding a showerhead standing by. I’ll be damned if I can come up with a less sexy scene. 

As he massages shampoo into my hair I bring up the animation again. 

“Time is running out. You really should find someone to take care of the live performance.”

“I know.”

“It’ll be a hell of a shame if Gorillaz miss this opportunity.”

“I know.”

“For Christ’s sake will you deal with it? Shouldn’t you be at the studio?

“I’m not going to die if you leave me alone. What about the animator I’m referring to you?”

“It has to be you.”

“Why?”

“Just cause.”

“What?”

“Will you consider having someone other than me to make the music for Gorillaz?

“You’re my partner. You’re irreplaceable. I wouldn’t dream of replacing anyone in Blur, and I certainly will not consider replacing you.”

But you did have Simon tour with you as lead guitarist. 

“And you’re more than just a partner. You’re special.”

“These,” he points at my eyes, “these are blue and special.”

“This,” he points at my nose, “this is pointy and special.”

“These,” he points at my lips, “these are upturned and special.”

“This,” he points at my forehead, “this is the most fucking genius and special mind I’ve ever known.”

“And this,” he points at my chest, “this is most special because it loves me.”

I close my eyes. I know I’ve long lost the plot but I never thought he’d be so bold as to spell it out. If I keep them shut there’s a chance for the tears to stay back. 

Damon gently pulls me out of the tub and dries me with a clean towel. He then leads me back to bed and tucks me in again. As his lips brush across my cheek I suddenly grab his head and press my lips onto his. 

I lie. And I deceive. Just because a story is narrated in the first-person perspective doesn’t mean it’s one hundred percent truthful, in case you didn’t realize that. I suffered from exhaustion and malnutrition, not cancer or tuberculosis. I’ve been fully recovered since day two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I struggle with writing you know what. I promise I'll continue with what's going on here in Chapter 9.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess I've done little creative writing before apart from a summer course I took at grad school. And I'm new to this fandom. I apologize for any discomfort I cause in ppl who find this offensive, but I Will hold my head high even if the ppl I write about read this. I might even ask for an autograph.

A touch, a kiss, a moan. 

Slowly and steadily I make love to him. 

Fingers entwined, limbs entangled, lip on lip, skin on skin. Our breaths synchronize. 

His pupils are so dilated that the gold speckles in his irises are close to invisible, and I see myself reflected in them: pale, skinny, miserable, but I don’t mind. 

He’s warm and lovely, his torso becoming thicker over the years. And as he wraps his legs around me and pull me close for a kiss, I notice the fine crows-feet around his eyes. 

Those little imperfections—the narrow shoulders, the crooked back, the flared ribs, the fleshy abdomen—are exactly what make him perfect. He was pretty when I first met him. Now he’s beautiful beyond description.

“I want all of you,” he says. So I give it all, mind, body, soul. Our bodies levitate as we release simultaneously. 

I no longer fear the fall, for he’s finally caught me.  
…  
We sit in the audience as Murdoc stalks on stage in nothing but a pair of briefs and a cape, while the rest of the band play Feel Good Inc. to a holographic Madonna. The music is very quiet because strong vibration interferes with the cellophane-thin screen we set for the special effects. The rest of the guests just chatter away, unaware of the performance in progress. 

A moment later Madonna appears on stage in flesh, and the audience applaud and cheer. Damon and I look at each other. “So this is what Grammy feels like huh.”

There goes the best fun in our lives.  
…  
Back when Damon and I were still making Demon Days，we were approached by some producer who said there was this Chinese director who wanted to make a modern opera out of Journey to the West, a Chinese classical mythology. The storyline bears some similarities to The Lord of the Rings, but in fact Journey to the West dates back to the 16th century, a much earlier time. 

We’ve both seen the Japanese animated adaption back in the seventies, and we loved it. Plus, we are both monkeys, according to the Chinese zodiac, so there’s the added excitement. 

We visit China multiple times to collect material, sometimes staying for months. I’m not talking about touring major cities or scanning tourist attractions. We go Deep. We ride on slow trains for days and board with local households where indoor plumbing doesn’t exist most of the time. Compared to the rural bungalows we stay in Yunnan, the Westbourne Grove flat we shared in London has every quality of a 5-star Hotel. But oh boy do we have fun. 

Damon particularly enjoys listening to the local people speak and play music. There are more than 50 nationalities residing in China, and literally hundreds of dialects exist in dozens of provinces. In many places we visit, he simply sits quietly outdoors and watches the local scene unfold in front of him. He says it helps integrate his mind into the Chinese pentatonic scale. 

I’ve collected my fair share of material as well. I visit all the ancient temples and palaces, take photos, draw sketches, and I make sure to see enough of the traditional Chinese landscapes done in ink. But upon return when I show Chen Shi-zheng, our director, my designs of the opera, he shakes his head. This happens several times in a row. I’m at a loss. 

Eventually I stop pulling my hair out in frustration, and in a desperate attempt to get inspirations, I decide to visit the Regent’s Zoo to see some real monkeys. Damon is kind enough to go with me. 

Naturally we make a beeline to the newly opened Gorilla Kingdom. As I admire the magnificent Western lowland gorillas I feel Damon’s arm tighten around my waist. I look around and there he is, standing at the entrance of the enclosure, trying to blend into the crowd. 

It’s Graham.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter kinda drags. It could be me still struggling to recover from my Submission mentality or the fact that there's real struggle and tiredness in characters as well. Anyway, we won't be far away from the big falling out of 2010.

I turn my eyes back to admire the great apes, “Saw him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to go talk to him?”

“He’ll probably leave right away. I don’t think he’s ready to talk to me yet.”

“Wanna leave?”

“…”

“Proceed as usual?”

He sighs inaudibly, “I guess.”

I don’t know if you enjoy hide and seek much. Let’s just say this game has permanently lost its appeal to me from this day on. 

Upon return I give up coming up with new ideas with the designs, and go back to what I know best, the familiar gorillaz-style depiction of characters and backdrops. Surprisingly, Chen agrees heartily to this version. It’s as if he has been waiting for me to recognize my own strength. He even quotes an ancient Chinese verse as compliment, “众里寻他千百度，蓦然回首，那人却在灯火阑珊处,” which loosely translates into the long quest in which one searches everywhere for a loved one and then turns around to find that person waiting patiently not far away. 

I guess Damon has found that person at Regent’s Zoo. 

…

I busy myself in the production, week in and week out. Directing human actors is vastly different from directing animation, and seeing Chen and Damon proceeding coolly without breaking a sweat is even more nerve-wrecking on my own part. What makes things worse is that the costumes and props are anything but easy. All in all, the production of Monkey turns out to be one of the most chaotic experiences in my life. I don’t know how we made it but miraculously, the show opens in Manchester on schedule. 

We stand side by side at the entrance of the Opera House, the proud duo behind the making of something truly unique, authentic and special. 

And then he walks away.

Graham is looking better than ever. I can tell he’s been working out and staying in shape, while his signature taste impeccably enhances his broad shoulders, slim waist and long legs. He’s still very neurotic and tense now that he’s sober, but in a way his nerves render him all the more loveable as he smiles and fidgets with his hair and glasses. 

It’s funny how Damon manages to appear more nervous than Graham, addressing a childhood pal on a last name basis and what not. It warms your heart to see Damon’s inability to refrain from touching Graham as soon as they get close to each other. Today is a good day to be a Blur fan. It’s like finally finding the one missing piece of your favorite jigsaw puzzle, if you pardon my analogy.

I suddenly feel an urge to walk away from the camera, and everything and everyone else.

…

I didn’t. 

November comes again and he has ideas for a new project, called Carousel. He must have got a lot more out of the production of Monkey than I did. He’s talking about getting an organization of real people doing new projects, making more music, which he calls his IDEAL MODEL. 

What about the animated characters?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Research is taking longer than expected...

He picks up an empty bottle from the beach and shows it to me. 

“I didn’t realize this. But it’s everywhere, the plastic, a testament to the colossal damage humans do to the world.”

That night we sip wine in front of the fireplace at his farmhouse. 

“I don’t think Carousel is going anywhere. Let’s make another Gorillaz album.”

“About plastic?”

“About pollution. Yes, mostly plastic.”

“Okay.”

The recording starts soon after the New Year. Considering the 70-odd songs he has written for Carousel, that part shouldn’t be a problem. But my work starts from the drawing board. 

I base my model on the Great Pacific Plastic Patch as the blueprint and come up with an island made of plastic and other human debris, which serves as the backdrop of the new story line. I even make it pink. Then I spend months building the island from scratch. CGI is too easy. This time I want the real thing. 

Upon completion we shoot the cover of the album. Fantastic. This island, called Plastic Beach, is going to be featured in the MV’s of all the new singles, or at least most of them. 

The recording is mostly done by the end of 2008, when Blur announces their reunion after their 2003 falling out. Of course Damon’s told me about this. And of course, I understand. There’s no way he could be doing both at the same time. I saw this coming in 2007. 

2009 witnesses the happiest summer of Blur fans in the 21st century, with multiple gigs throughout the country. Despite years of separation, the four-piece hit it on amazingly well, like a hand fitting in the old glove. When they headline Glastonbury Festival 11 years after their last gig in 1998, the country is in ecstatic tears. Talk about fairy tale endings.

Since there’s no co-producer to rein him in this time, Damon takes a larger step into collaborative work. I don’t do name dropping, but I suppose you already know the famous artists featured in the album. The recording is completed not long after the summer. Then the shooting for music videos ensues.

Thanks to a coincidental encounter at a show of Monkey, Bruce Willis has agreed to appear in the shooting of Stylo for free, but the production still exceeds budget, by a wide margin. It’s supposed to be a cheap car chase stunt inspired by a TV show called Knight Rider, and then the animated characters will be added to the scene. But in order to do that, a section of highway has to be hired in Calico, California, and stuntmen, and 4 real cops, and a firetruck, and a helicopter and ambulances. A can of worms comes to mind. So yes, I can be expensive. 

Now that the album’s out, Damon prepares for the supporting tour as usual. He agrees to appear at Coachella Festival, and busies himself in the organizing of a live band. The end result is amazing. He has half of Clash on stage. We close Coachella amid wild applause. I’m not too dissatisfied with the stage production, either. 

And then we get invited to headline Glastonbury, exactly one year after the unprecedented Blur gig, because U2’s pulling out due to Bono’s back injury. 

Damon says yes. 

I have a few theories to explain the end result. For one thing, Blur had the sentimental advantage after a long period of separation before their gig. For another, we shouldn’t have assumed that we could simply repeat the success at Coachella by playing new songs with an amazing band on stage. After all, many U2 fans in the audience still held a grudge as if we had usurped their limelight. It’s a huge blow to the ego.

I go on to make more music videos for the album, but upon completion of On Melancholy Hill the record company announces that they are pulling the budget from Rhinestone Eyes. 

Apparently I’m too expensive.


	12. Chapter 12

You know what’s funny? To tour in support of an environmentalist-themed album and end up being the biggest polluter in the industry. 

I kid you not. Literally dozens of tour buses cruise around the globe to showcase how amazing Gorillaz are. And by around the globe I mean we are EVERYWHERE: NYC, Chicago, LA, London, Berlin, Paris, Hongkong, Sydney, Auckland, just to name a few. 

Oh, don’t worry about me, I’m fucking PEACEFUL. You see, after the Glastonbury gig Damon’s taken a shift in strategy. He’s decided Gorillaz should perform like a proper live band, with REAL musicians, all dressed up like a Jean-Paul Gaultier fashion show no less. Animated characters can go fuck themselves. He doesn’t say it aloud, but I’m not blind. And I can also tell he’s ENJOYING himself, despite the fact that we’re merely breaking even because of all the expenses. He’s happy. 

He’s just not too happy about my drinking. 

As if I had anything better to do. 

Otherwise how am I going to stay PEACEFUL?

I find the answer to that question in November. 

Emma. 

Gorillaz have two gigs in Paris, and La Musicale wants to interview us. Since Damon is busy with the sound check and rehearsals, and I’ve got nothing better to do, it’s only natural that I went. 

I haven’t been this uncomfortable for years. No, it’s not because Damon’s not around, since I’m usually the one that hold him back and reassure him on such occasions. And it can’t be the alcohol, because booze usually makes me calm. 

She’s so gorgeous, and she SMILES in such a way as if she’s genuinely interested in what I say. At least that’s how I feel. I don’t know why I go on and on about zombies and Dawn of the Dead in front of her. Nor do I know why I have to correct her by stressing Damon and I are two DADS instead of the pair of PARENTS of Gorillaz. 

After the interview she gives me her number as if she were expecting me to call her. 

And I do, almost every day, and by doing that I actually feel happy. I haven’t been this happy in years. 

Then a few days before Christmas in Auckland, New Zealand. “You’ve got the summer here ahead of you…a big day out…but for us, for us this is the last time…”

Finally. I’m sort of relieved. 

…

Back in London I visit him at his studio on Christmas eve. 

Despite the saying that guilty people often make their first moves, I speak up first. 

“So this thing has finally run its natural courses.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you don’t seem to need me here anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, the gigs, with half the Clash on stage and everyone else, including Lou Reed and Bobby Womack. What do you need me for? What do you need the screen for? You think I’m comfortable being liability?”

“Can you stop running away for once?”

Now I’m surprised.

“I’m sick and tired of dragging you back every time. And if you’re not keen on this, why do you act like you’re interested?”

I gape at him. 

“You tried to run right after the movie deal fell through. You couldn’t even wait ‘til we get back to London. I had to practically drag you out of a pub because you were so keen on avoiding me.

“And then you wanted out during Monkey. You were walking in a fog throughout the production. You think I didn’t notice? Ever since we bumped into Graham you’ve wanted out.”

“If I remember correctly you’re the one that keeps going back to Blur.”

“Except I come back to you, every fucking time, don’t I?”

“Look,” I try to be the voice of reason, “you wanted me in this because of the animated characters. Now that you don’t need them anymore, why not just let it go? You can write all the songs you want and collaborate with all the famous artists for all I care. But if I can’t be an artist what am I?”

“You think this is all it is? A business partnership?”

“Of course not,” I sigh, “I have feelings for you. You called that out years ago. But a man’s got limits.”

“This is it then. You think I’m EXPLOITING your feelings.”

I fall silent. 

He shoves me in the chest, hard. 

“You think I had this in mind when I asked you to move in with me back in 1997? That I’m some kind of warlock and somehow foresaw this? That I spent over a decade with you just for this? Fuck the animated characters!”

I feel blood drain from my face, so I turn and reach for the door knob. 

He tackles me from behind, wraps his arms around me and presses me against the wall. 

I elbow him in the side and he loosens his grip in pain. 

I turn around to push him off me, and he grabs my wrists. 

Somehow I find myself fumbling at his clothes in a frenzy, his hands tearing at mine. 

He bites down hard on my lip, and I taste iron. 

In turn I leave toothmarks on him, while his short nails dig into my back, drawing blood. 

I shall never forget the glint in his eyes as I retrieve myself. 

“This time I’m not coming after you.”

He doesn’t say this, but as I close the door from outside Studio 13, I hear that loud and clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I end this right here it fits perfectly into my aesthetics...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would've ended this at Chapter 12 but hey, here we are.  
> Also the guitar in question is a Graham Coxon signature Fender Telecaster.  
> For a picture of the autographed magazine see https://64.media.tumblr.com/15690dd17b943e84e9ce0f9c7372d52c/522ed72cdee03b25-61/s640x960/7e89ca199fc68d5407678a5844ac7fd098546da2.jpg

Retirement suits me. 

After closing my studio above Studio 13, I move to Paris and marry Emma. It’s the fairy tale wedding and happily ever after anyone could dream of. I go with Emma to movie premiers and art festivals. I do an amazing job as her arm candy. I paint a lot. I conceive of projects that I constantly abandon. A couple of name brands approach me for product promotion or design jobs, which I happily accept. Life is good. 

Damon on the other hand has kept himself busy as always. He takes up Dr. Dee and finishes it, from which I pulled out at the same time I pulled out of Gorillaz. He even gets a heptagonal pendant to match the tattoo on his right hand as commemoration. In 2012 he closes the Summer Olympics with an amazing gig at Hyde Park with Blur. After that, Blur tour the world again in 2013, 10 years after their Think Tank tour, or 14 years after the original lineup since 1999. I know these because I surf the Internet a lot. I’m retired you know. 

And then I get approached by Lincoln Center Festival in discussion of a series of re-opening of Monkey in NYC in the summer. Truth be told, I welcome a change of pace. Also I agree to go to the States because Damon would be touring with Blur in Europe around the time. 

During interviews I remain vague and diplomatic as always.

“There’s also a five years gap between the albums because they take a long time to do and- and they’re very exhausting and when you’re finished you feel like you need to go do other stuff. So Damon’s touring with Blur- he’s doing a world tour with Blur at the moment and then they’re working on a new album so there isn’t really time for him, and I’m doing other stuff as well. So I think it’s, um, we’ll come back to it when the time’s right.” 

I really shouldn’t have brought up the new Blur album, should I? Since it’s rather difficult to explain the source of information.

Curiously enough, Blur doesn’t have a new album in 2014, instead Damon’s made a solo record, very autobiographical, this one. He’s even shot a documentary with BBC to elaborate the pieces and bits in the lyrics. With the new album comes the tour, as usual. And I receive an invitation to a concert at the Alhambra, Paris, held on 5th of May.

Damon is practically GLOWING on stage. I haven’t seen him for years, and I don’t comprehend how a man could appear YOUNGER than his 2010 self, and hotter. I sort of expected this to be some kind of peace offering but this whole gig turns out to be a fucking human courtship display if I ever see one. Oh, and interesting choice of guitar, by the way. 

And then on a Christmas party, exactly 4 years since we last spoke. 

“All right, poof?”

“Hi, Damon."

Can I stop here? I meant to stop right after the previous chapter but someone just urges me on, although I don’t see why anyone would be interested in such a story. Fans of Gorillaz are just obsessed with the virtual band, and they pay little attention to the hens that actually lay the eggs. Not that I blame them. After all, the original intention of creating such a band is for us to remain anonymous. If you don’t believe me, just check the tags on ao3. I doubt anyone in their right mind would write a fic about us. Unless, of course, you’re a Blur fan and research anything related to Damon. I know how Britpop fans are.

Really? You want to hear more?

Blur finally have their 8th studio album in 2015. I’m not quite certain about the circumstances in its production but Graham appears really enthusiastic to see its completion. It is a beautiful album, a masterpiece even, at least musically. But I really couldn’t say much about their music videos. Can we settle for its um…sense of innovation and creativity? I especially admire the production of There Are Too Many Of Us, which was shot through an iPhone and cost like 300 pounds. I only wish I could be that thrifty. 

In April Blur appear at Le Grand Journal in support of their new album for an interview and a live performance. Since the host is Emma’s father, I get conveniently invited. After the show I go outside for a fag.  
  
“Mr. Hewlett?”  
  
I turn around and see this shy-looking girl. Apparently she wants an autograph. Okay.  
  
She hands me a 90’s magazine with Blur on the cover. She must have missed the band who left promptly.  
  
“You know I wouldn’t autograph that.”  
  
Her face crumbles.  
  
I have an idea.  
  
“Okay, never mind. I’ll sign it.”  
  
I bet she'd rather I hadn’t.

Shortly after the Magic Whip tour Damon calls me. 

“Remember what we agreed on?”

Okay, rewind to 5th May, 2014, the after party. 

We’ve both had a few drinks, and he walks over. 

“Do you want to do another one?”

“Do you?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, sure. What about?”

“We’ll make it up as we go along.”

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is where the acknowledgements are due. I'd like to thank ppl who've left friendly comments, friends back at home that gave me suggestions and discussed plots with me. And of course, anyone who has the patience to read through the fic. This ship is new to me but I do my best.  
> （＾ω＾）


End file.
